


Just Another Business Opportunity

by gingertart50



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertart50/pseuds/gingertart50
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry. George. Dead-Fred. Whipped cream. Naughtiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Business Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 'Phoenix Flies' fest, 2007. DH-compliant. Prompt: fun with a can of whipped cream.

Fred and George had already arrived when Harry wandered into the kitchen at the Burrow. Fred was lounging in the middle of the kitchen table, head propped up on one hand and elbow resting in the butter dish. He grinned at Harry and fluttered his eyelashes.   
  
“Oh, you!” Molly said crossly, batting at him with a tea towel. “Stop it; you’ll make the butter go hard.” The tea towel passed right through his body. “Hello, Harry, dear, nice to see you again.”  
  
“Keep your hair on, Mum,” George said, smiling at Harry. “He only does it to annoy you.”  
  
Fred stuck out his tongue. Molly sniffed and marched across to the oven, brandishing her wand like a sabre.  
  
“If you were solid, I’d clip you 'round the ear, young man.”  
  
“But I’m not and you can’t.” Fred’s voice had a faintly echoing quality, as if he was further away than he appeared and was talking into a large cauldron. “Do you think your sponge cakes would sink if I materialised inside the oven?”  
  
“Don’t you dare! I shall get your father to exorcise you if you don’t remember your manners. We taught you better than this.”  
  
“Oh, Mum,” George sighed, “He’s only kidding. Harry, Fred, come on, I want to talk to you about the business.”   
  
Molly sniffed but only remarked “Lunch will be ready at one for those of you who eat it,” and began clanging pots in the sink.   
  
“How do the customers react to being served by a ghost?” Harry enquired as they wandered out into the orchard. Fred shrugged.  
  
“The kids think it’s funny. Probably not a bad move career-wise, although it buggered up my sex-life something rotten.”  
  
“I thought,” Harry began, “I mean, I once asked Nearly Headless Nick about it – being a ghost, that is, and he said that he stayed behind because he was afraid of death.”  
  
“Oh I’m not scared of death,” Fred said cheerfully and Harry remembered that tact was wasted on the twins anyway, “Only of going there on my own. I’ll go when he does.” He jabbed at his brother with a transparent elbow. George responded by waving his arm through his twin’s body, making his outline eddy like a smoke-ring caught in a draught.   
  
“Have to hang around a long time, then, bro’, ’cos I’m here for the duration. He’s quite helpful at the shop,” George added in Harry’s direction. “There are no shoplifters round our aisles now, although he’s pretty useless at stacking shelves.”  
  
Fred revolved in midair and stuck out his tongue.  
  
“Harry, my boy.” George slung a heavy arm around Harry’s shoulders. “We’ve something that we’d like you to try out for us.”  
  
“Oh, yes?” Harry said, suspiciously.   
  
“Harry, I am hurt!” Fred reeled back, dramatically clutching at his chest. “You don’t trust us!”  
  
“Dead right.”  
  
“Oh, go on,” George wheedled, “Pretty please? With cream on top?”  
  
“If you think I’m drinking another of your evil potions and turning into a purple giraffe – ”  
  
“No, no, my boy,” Fred threw his arm around Harry too, so that he was pressed between the warmth of George on one side and the chilly, draughty ghost on the other. “Show him, George.”  
  
With a flourish, George produced a white aerosol can from his pocket.   
  
“Whipped cream?” Harry said dubiously.  
  
“Ten points to Gryffindor! But this isn’t any old can of cream, this is a Weasleys’ luxury sex-aid, mate. Spray this onto your lover and watch what happens.” He pressed it into Harry’s reluctant grasp. “Go on, have this one on the house. Just let us know how you get on, okay?”  
  
“If I must.”  
  
“Good man.” Fred slapped him on the shoulder; it was like a dash of blown spray from an icy sea.   
  
“Notice he didn’t deny having a lover,” George said, sotto voce. Fred nodded. Harry sighed and tucked the can into his robe.  
  
“People are queuing up, yeah. Everyone wants a piece of the Boy Who Lived Twice.”  
  
“Because you’re the Boy Who Lived,” Fred said in his hollow voice, “I see. You want someone who wants Harry.”  
  
“Would be nice, yeah.”  
  
Fred and George shared a deeply significant look.   
  
“Walk this way, young man,” said Fred and swooped back towards the Burrow with his arms outspread, making 'Whoo-whoo-whoo' noises and frightening the chickens.   
  
“We’ll be upstairs, Mum,” George said as they went through the kitchen.  
  
“Yeah, don’t disturb us, we’re plotting,” Fred added and shot straight up through the ceiling. Far above them something moaned pitifully.   
  
“Stop teasing the ghoul!” Molly shouted and went back to her saucepans, beating time with her wand to “Green-eyed Wizard”, Celestina Warbeck’s latest hit on the radio.  
  
“Green-eyed Wizard, wait for meeeeee,” sang George in a trembling falsetto.  
  
“How I love you, don’t you seeeee,” trilled Fred, popping his head down through the ceiling and hanging upside down like a light fixture.  
  
“For you I’d cross the stormy seeeeea,” George piped,  
  
“I’d even fight that git Voldieeeee,”  
  
“If you’d only point your wand at meeeee - !”  
  
“OUT!” Molly bellowed and George and Harry fled up the stairs, Fred’s sepulchral giggles echoing through the house.  
  
“She won’t bother us for hours, now,” George confided as he shut the bedroom door behind them and cast locking and silencing charms.   
  
“So, young Harry,” Fred said, stretching out on the neatly made bed where he used to sleep, “In a spirit of scientific investigation – ”  
  
“And a brotherly desire to help out – ”  
  
“D’you fancy trying out the whipped cream?”  
  
Harry looked at George’s freckled, clever face and the silvery mirror image that was his twin, and nodded.  
  
“Whey-hey!” George punched the air and Fred rose up off the bed, turning a somersault. George reached out and gently unfastened the neck of Harry’s robe.   
  
“Good man,” he murmured, drawing the garment slowly down to reveal Harry’s t-shirt and jeans. Fred began to perform a striptease in midair. As he released each insubstantial garment, it faded away like a wisp of mist.  
  
“I hope you can get those back again,” Harry remarked, “Otherwise your Mum certainly will have you exorcised.”  
  
“Yeah, I just have to concentrate and they come back. No laundry problems.” Fred whirled his gauzy underpants around his head and released them so that they landed against George’s face like a dash of sleet.  
  
“Do you mind? I’m trying to get all sensual and erotic here and you’re throwing your manky dead knickers in my face!”  
  
“Okay, keep your hair on, bro’. Where’s the cream?”  
  
Harry fished the can out of his robe pocket and George took it from him with a feral grin.   
  
“This is from our ‘sex is fun’ range. We also do body paints and edible lubricants in a range of delicious flavours inspired by Botts’ Beans. Much appreciated by the animagi among us.”  
  
“I dread to think,” Harry muttered.   
  
“You’d be amazed,” Fred said darkly. “But for now – ta-daa!” He spread his arms wide and spun round on the spot. “Fred Weasley, dead but not down!”  
  
“Not exactly up, either,” George muttered.   
  
“Lack of hormones, bro’. It’ll come up when needed.”  
  
George rolled his eyes and turned back to Harry, pushing him gently back onto the bed with a hand on his chest. Bemused, Harry sat down and allowed himself to be guided down flat on his back. George drew his wand and flicked it in a complicated pattern. The cool air made goosebumps come up on Harry’s body as his clothes disappeared, reappearing on the other bed in a neatly folded heap.   
  
“Cool,” Fred remarked.   
  
George leaned over and squirted whipped cream in a circle around each of Harry’s nipples. Harry thought that the cream felt cold, until Fred swooped down and engulfed both cream and Harry’s left nipple in his mouth, at which point Harry realised that the cream had not been cold at all. It certainly was cold now; it was freezing into instant ice cream. George leaned over and took the right nipple and associated cream into his warm, living lips and sucked.  
  
The contrast of hot-and-cold, his nipples sending contradictory signals to his brain, almost made Harry levitate off the bed. “Shit!”  
  
“Good, eh?” Fred blew an icy little breath at the now bare right nipple. George squirted spirals across Harry’s chest and stomach and then he and Fred began following the pattern, one mouth warm and wet, the other cold and dry. Hot and cold, alternating so fast that Harry felt dizzy, the two mouths trailed across his torso. Harry squirmed, his cock responding to the stimulation, thickening and hardening. George sprayed cream all over it and took it into his mouth, warm and living and real, and swallowed cream and sucked, his agile tongue gently lapping at Harry’s foreskin.  
  
It was all too much; Harry knew that he would not last long. He gurgled a warning but George closed his mouth around him and hummed. Harry arched his back and came with a groan.   
  
He opened his eyes again and found himself staring into George’s grinning face, Fred peering over his shoulder, pale and bright as the moon.   
  
“Cream?” Harry took the can when George held it up, and pushed the red-haired wizard down onto the bed. “My turn.”  
  
“Catches on quick, does young Harry,” Fred remarked. “Looks like the cat that got the cream.”  
  
“Soaks it up like a sponge.”  
  
“Thought he’d turned to jelly for a moment there.”  
  
“No, he was just a trifle overwhelmed.”  
  
Harry squirted cream into George’s mouth and began licking it out, purely in a spirit of scientific enquiry, of course. Fred sniggered and began to fist his translucent cock in one hand.   
  
“That is rather disconcerting,” Harry remarked when he stopped for breath.   
  
“It is, isn’t it?” George agreed. “We’re wondering about a new range, actually, Fred’s idea. Porn and sex toys for the ghost in your life.”  
  
“What?”   
  
Fred floated in mid-air, enthusiastically wanking.  
  
“If you destroy things under carefully controlled conditions,” he explained, “You can create temporary ghosts. They don’t hang around for long but who cares? You don’t keep shag-mags forever. So George has already managed to create lube that I can use – very nice it was too – and a butt-plug and nipple clamps and a rather nifty wyvern-skin posing pouch.”   
  
“I didn’t even realise that ghosts could have sex.”  
  
“If we concentrate. If one of you loses focus, the other one gets a cold shower, a bit off-putting.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you shagged Moaning Myrtle?”  
  
“Puh-lease! No, the Grey Lady and I came to a rather satisfactory understanding after the big re-opening party at Hogwarts. George was kind enough to burn a bottle of vodka and all the ghosts got pissed. It was quite a revelation. You’d be amazed at quite how flexible Nearly Headless Nick can be.”  
  
“I thought she was with the Bloody Baron?”  
  
Fred winked. “Say no more.” He arched his back, speeding up the strokes until he erupted with a hoot of triumph, sending a shower of what looked like hailstones across the room. They winked out like sparks, vanishing before they reached the floor.  
  
“His next project,” George said, brandishing the cream in a manner that promised further stickiness, “is a range of stimulatory material for ghouls.”  
  
“Really?” Harry copied George’s disrobing charm, then seized the can and sprayed it over George’s belly and chest. “Remind me to be bloody careful about what I try in your back room in future.”  
  
“You see death,” said Fred, “I see just another business opportunity.” He swooped down, passing through his brother’s body and turning all the whipped cream to frozen froth. George yelped. “If you want to support our next venture,” Fred remarked, “I’m thinking of opening a night club with ghosts as the floor show.”  
  
Harry declined to reply. He was too busy licking up frozen cream. Fred reached down to trail a ghostly finger across George’s cock in its coating of cream. “D’you think we could produce something stimulating for Hagrid and Madam Maxime…?”


End file.
